Titanium Will
by The Man Whom Doom Fears
Summary: Lack of purpose can drive one to despair, but not the Hellwalker. After eradicating all demons, he quickly finds another purpose, reluctantly hunting criminals before they can sin enough to become demons. Although it goes against his moral code, it has to be done, as no one else can. His journey of evil extermination will lead him to discover a different kind of Hell.
1. Mission 1: Brighter Tomorrow

Light flooded the entire room of what seemed to be a dormitory, an' a damn unkempt one too.

Light flooded, but so did the memories.

Images, flashin' too fast to make any sense of them. Runes, unspeakable to the tongue of men. I knew 'em all. They always follow me, even in my darkest of nightmares.

Nightmares? I don't have nightmares, I give' em. And I give 'em real bad, some good ol' lead usually doin' it's job justice.

But now, I'm becomin' weary. Time is taking a toll on this old body, not long until it falls apart.

Death at the gates again, howlin' my name. Can't greet you today. I got a war to win.

Holding out my hand, sparks materialize and fuse, forming a Revolver.

I've risen from my slumber, ready to give 'em Hell once again.

The eternal cycle shall begin anew.

**Mission 1: "Brighter Tomorrow"**

_"So you walk eternally through the shadow realms, standing against evil where all others falter. May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again."_

_-Corrax Entry 7:1__7_

* * *

As he aggressively opened the door on the side of the dormitiry, he found himself in a small bathroom, having a distinct smell about it.

The Hellwalker started looking around, coldly analyzing his surroundings.

Finally regaining his composure, the man looked closely above the sink. Darkened eyes remained glued to the dirty mirror, discovering a man unknown to him, looking straight back.

All the man saw was dullness. His once hazel eyes were now empty, only a glint of his long lost humanity living on within them, preventing him from falling prey to their diabolic influence.

Long, ebony strands of hair intertwined with their white counterparts, creating a masterpiece within his hair, a masterpiece depicting a night sky in the coldest of winters.

A terrifying painting, truly incomprehensible, even to the greatest of minds. He sighed.

As much as he wanted to deny it, that man was himself. Countless millennia have changed him, and, for the first time, the Hellwalker wasn't sure if it was for the best.

The man closed his exhausted eyes.

Without any previous warning, he stretched his fingers out, causing sparks to flicker into existence, thus forming a razor. The Hellwalker knew what had to be done.

Blade in hand, he aggressively grabbed his flowing locks and, with previously unseen ferocity, he cut them clean off. Shoulder-length hair was all that remained.

"Keep goin', old man..." The Slayer whispered to himself melancholically.

The road was long, but it sure as Hell wasn't paved by Argent Energy.

He made sure it remained that way.

Although finished, the yearning to do more still lurked within his psyche.

Looking back at himself, he realized the ritual of rebirth was yet to begin.

His wounds were still open wide, so, as a result, the man needed to manually stitch himself back together.

Booze helped keep the hand steady, and, as needle pierced flesh, he allowed the bitter numbness to slowly envelop his dying body.

He was at Doom's Gate, and he was about to feel like it.

* * *

Pools of red covered the ground, as if they were leaves deep in November, but nevertheless, it was finished. The bottle was empty. Autumn had ended.

The cycle had officialy begun.

Still dizzy fron the booze, he shakily attempted to stand up, only to feel a cold, metallic obiect bumping in the back of his head.

"Don't move, for God's sake, or I'll shoot!" A man yelled behind him, intimidated by the Slayer's inhumanly strong presence.

The Hellwalker narrowed his bloodshot eyes.

Killing intent was rising within the Slayer, forcing the intruder to step back in unrelenting fear.

"Was a time I was scared of you. Was a time I'd pissed myself havin' a gun pointed at my head. You know 'at I feel right now?"

The Slayer asked rhetorically, awaiting no response.

**"Not a goddamn thing."**


	2. Mission 2: Into The Fire

As the trigger clicked, I felt the lead touch the surface of my skin. But none of 'at mattered.

A pentagram lit up on my forehead at an instant.

_"As it always had, as it always will."_

Bullet pierced the skull, only to disintegrate into sparks. Death is of no consequence to me, as I am the one who deals it.

Just like in a game of Poker.

A game I've personally rigged.

**Mission 2: "Into the Fire"**

_"They are rage, brutal, without mercy. But you. You will be worse. Rip and tear, until it is done."_

* * *

The Slayer could only laugh at the intruder's mortified expression.

In fact, he did, and this definitely didn't sit well with the unexpected guest, as his expression visibly became even more extreme.

Seconds, minutes, the intruding man didn't know, but they have passed at uncomfortably slow pace.

Soon, without any warning, the laughter had stopped, only to be followed by a minute long gap of dead silence. The man's heart skipped a beat.

Eerily similar to a predator in the wilds, the unrelenting quietude the Slayer surrounded himself in was not one to be trifled with, as this trait of his was something his old opponents learnt to fear.

Not only that, but now…

The Slayer's face was now freshly painted with colours of emotionlessness and brushes of apathy.

A horrifying canvas, one to be truly feared, be it by demon or mortal.

"Easy way or hard way? Yer choice."

His gruff voice rang in the emptiness of the apartment, echoes following each resurgence of sound from his sore throat.

The Slayer was particularly entertained by this situation.

The gaping maw of a mouth that the intruder had had attempted to mutter words of forgiveness, but none of it mattered. Sound didn't come out, as if the unexpected guest was floating in the empty vacuum of space.

"Hard way it is, then." The muscular man muttered in a comedic manner.

As the intruder was choking on words, the Hellwalker ran out of patience.

It had to be done.

Moving swiftly, he grabbed the unfortunate man's arm and yanked on it, the bones cracking in the dislocation that followed this sudden movement.

The so-called guest didn't even have time to even let out a yelp of pain, as the Scourge of Hell followed the violent pull with a straight jab in the jaw, knocking the intruder out cold.

"Every action 'as it's debt, an' you're 'bout to pay for it..."

With the words said, it was lights out for the criminal.

* * *

**First of all, I want to let you all know that this shall be probably the shortest chapter in the entire story, just so you don't misunderstand the purpose of this chapter, said purpose being welcoming you to this story and introducing myself.**

**Secondly****, I am The Man Whom Doom Fears, but you can call me Man, and this is my first fanfiction. Been a fan of DOOM for years now, and I feel like the DOOM Community was lacking in the FanFiction department, and as such, I decided to make one myself.**

**As**** previously mentioned, the purpose of this chapter is to introduce myself etc., so, as such, welcome to this FanFiction! Hope you enjoy your stay and reviews are highly appreciated, so go on ahead!**


	3. Mission 3: Revelation

This kid…

He seems weak, but he sure as Hell ain't normal.

Some kind of alternate strain of Argent's emitting from his soul. He ain't corrupted, just… I don't even know 'nymore…

Shit's gettin' weirder and weirder, makes my head spin. Used to be so simple too.

Back then, when the demons were the bad guys an' humans the good ones. Line between good 'n' evil's now blurred as all Hell. Hard to tell who're the real demons 'nymore.

Thank the Wraiths I didn't put lead through 'is head though, 'cause now I can take advantage of the good ol' medieval techniques I learnt back in D'Nur.

Shouldn't last long, he's too delicate to do so.

Still, need to keep in mind to be careful. If I overwhelm him with pain…

I might just break 'im.

_**Mission 3: "Revelation"**_

_"You are huge! That means you have huge guts! Rip and tear! Rip and tear your guts!"_

_-Doom Slayer_

* * *

The intruder opened his eyes slowly, the pain still throbbing in his head. Vision hazy, he looked forward, eyes looming over the large silhouette in front of him, eating an orange.

Not eating it like any sane person, slice by slice, but taking bites out of it like an apple. The Hellwalker knew full-well it was weird.

He couldn't care less. He's in it for the nutritional value.

Wrists sore, the freshly woken-up man tries to lunge at the Slayer, only to realize he is tied to the radiator's pipes.

"Why… Why are you doing this, man? I was just tryin' to make a liv-" the uninvited guest stumbled across his words, but the Slayer was having none of it.

The Hellwalker lifted the orange in the air and pierced the intruder with a gaze that could freeze Hell over. "Ya see this? This will be your head if ya ain't tellin' me… " And then proceeded to crush it meticulously. He continued his statement, citric fluids dripping down his heavily scarred forearm. "… The truth…"

This threat made the tied man gulp, as he knew all to well the Slayer's threats weren't empty.

"Alright… Alright. Ask away! I know nothin'!" The guest bluffed shakily.

The Unchained Predator could only smirk at the man's mindless statement.

"That so?"

With a swift movement, the Hellwalker savagely swung his fist.

The punch the Slayer threw flew right past the intruder's mortified expression, webs of fissures forming into the wall that was unfortunate enough to face the Scourge of Hell itself, creaking as of it was drawing the last it's last breaths.

There were so many questions the former Demon Slayer wanted to ask this young stranger. What was he? Who sent him? Why would he be stupid enough to-

Before he could finish his train of thoughts, the Harbinger found himself interrupted by the fastened man in front of him.

Seems like the threat worked out too well, as the info was flooding out of the guest's mouth not unlike to the abhorrent blood falls which were unearthed in the catacombic depths of Titan's Realm, the Viscera Sacrarium.

"… Huh…"

Said info was definitely something the Slayer didn't want to hear.

"Boss said the crime rate dropped and that our… our people are too afraid and demoralized to act." The restrained man stated, voice shaking in utter terror.

"... Boss y'say?" The Scourge of Hell asked, having his interest piqued. "Who do ya work for?" He continued.

Seeing the Slayer loosen up, the intruder managed to calm down slightly. "The Yakuza."

"… Hoh…"

Our hero's eyes widened in surprise. The Yakuza was the last organization he'd expect to have beef with him.

"Surprised yer people gained such a great influnece 'round the world."

Sweating slightly from the awkward situation, the guest complied with the Slayer's assumed attempts to make small talk. "Haha, you'd be surprised!"

Silence was what followed, an awkward silence comparable to the ones observed at most Night Sentinel council meetings.

Gulping for one last time, the stranger intended to make quite a daring proposition. "So... Y'gonna let me go?"

Amused, the Slayer answered in a joking manner. "Hm? Nah, not yet, got plenty o' use to get outta you, kid." Smiling cruelly, as if he was about to mentally scar the young guest in front of him, he continued. "Hope y'got strong shoulders, 'cause you're the one doin' the heavy liftin'."

Eyes widened and sporting a shaky smile as if he is in the phase in denial, the young man proceeded with sharing his opinon about this situation.

"That… That sounds…"

The Slayer narrowed his eyes, willing to accept only a certain response from the man fastened on his bathroom's floor.

"That sounds… So good!" He trembled.

Suffice to say, the Hellwalker was content with the stranger's response, which cannot be said about the intruder himself.

* * *

**Alright, this one took a bit!**

**Now to answer some questions, or better said, question. Firstly, DOOM's Hell is eradicated in this Universe. Or so we think, I am not willing to spoil future plots but expect surprises along the line. Secondly, this isn't a fic where Doomguy goes along and kills DxD Devils and DxD Main Characters. They might be devilish from a biological standpoint, but they are still innocent, until proven guilty if that appears to be the case.**

**Doomguy isn't aware of the DxD Hell so far, and thus tries to kill criminals Punisher style in order to prevent them from sinning enough to become demons from the Hell he once knew.**

**Hope this clears a few things up and thank you for reading this chapter!**


	4. Mission 4: Bad Omens

We were showered in a blindin' light as we kept troddin' the busy Londonian streets. Us, walking 'round the place standin' out like sore thumbs, were makin' our way to the nearest train station.

Destination, fuck 'nows where. Said fuck bein' my lil' guest over 'ere.

"So... Erm... What should I do now?" Asked the kid once again like a broken record.

I responded sarcastically, without payin' mind to the bystanders giving us glances, both good or bad convictions being intelligible in their intensity. "Don't think ye are in the position to ask questions."

Returning the favour, he responded in the same manner. "Look man, I can't carry any of that supposed weight if you don't tell me jack shit about what I am supposed to carry!" He retorted angrily, which only managed to annoy me slightly.

"Keep yer mouth shut for now before I shut it for ya, using heavy-duty stitchin' no less." I threathened, making my partner in crime shudder in fear. "You'll learn what to do when the time comes, got that?" Didn't want to admit it, but he had a point.

The youngster walkin' 'longside me could only turn his head and scoff, tryin' to feign his feelings o' anxiety, and simultaneously attemptin' to rile me up.

This is gonna be one long fuckin' day. I sure as Hell ain't willin' to take full responsibility for the horrible events of the next 24 hours.

**Mission 4: "Bad Omens"**

_"You were nothing but an usurper. A false idol…"_

_-Marauder_

* * *

"So, kid…" The Slayer broke the grim quietude between himself and his unwilling partner in crime.

"… Yeah?"

The former marine performed quite a threatening smirk that preceded the request he was about to voice out. "Yer time's now, spill the beans."

The Hellwalker allowed the silence to seep in through the cracks of the previous sentence, letting each and every syllable of his demand sink into the young man's ego, like a beast's fangs into its unfortunate spoil.

"Tell me. Where d'we need to go to find yer boss? Or better yet, tell me 'ere to find your damn Yakuza group."

"T-Tokyo..." Responded the unfortunate youngster with no trace of procrastination, but voice still faltering under the pressure of the Slayer's terrorizing presence.

The veteran killer could only smirk at the convenience of the situation. The train was in the station, ready to leave at any living moment.

With no words left to be spoken, the unlikely pair made a beeline straight to the train.

With something on his mind, the Slayer's partner stressed. "Wait wait wait wait, hold on to your damn shotgun, ain't we paying for the tickets?"

The Slayer, baffled by the criminal's seemingly rational question, answered in a snarky manner, previously unseen from him. "With a duffle bag full o' damn weapons an' bullets ya think they'd let us in, even 'f we payed for tickets? Seen tombs brighter than you, kid."

"Fair point, but was the insult even necessary?"

Without looking back and running towards the train as to not lose any of his precious time, he retorted.

"... Yep."


	5. Mission 5: Old Wounds

"So... Erm... What should I call ya?"

The kid really likes hearin' his voice, huh? Why do I 'lways get stuck with 'ese types…

"... You first." I answered with sheer disinterest, as I couldn't find any fucks to give in an ocean of 'em.

The brat's attempts at small talk are really startin' to become annoying. Feel like I'm babysittin' a sperm cell, as I can't 'ven tell it to shut up. Why y'may ask? It doesn't even have ears formed.

"The name's Makoto… Makoto Yuuma. Would ask you to call me by my first name, but I ain't gonna have you on a first name basis 'nytime soon man."

Wouldn't want it any other way, to be 'ntirely honest.

"No offense, but you ain't the most pleasant company."

"My fuses're pretty short, y'know."

This lil' letter of ill intent made this… Makoto kid gulp. Just as intended, couldn't help but chuckle.

I sure was right about the long day part though. Had a better time in Hell, believe it or not.

"Your part of the bargain now, it's only fair dude."

Shit. Didn't think this far ahead. Time t' do what people do to become billionaires, lie a crap ton.

"Flynn. Flynn Taggart, or Flynn Fly Taggart, pick yer poison, and choke on it."

Not gonna reveal whether this name is real or just some fake identity, got better shit to do, like thinking about pettin' bunnies or some shit.

"For a guy of your… Temperament… It's a pretty cool name!"

"The insult necessary?" I asked, knowing full-well what the answer would be.

"… Yep."

"... Good grief..."

Think a train murder mystery would fit right 'bout now, except I am the murderer and this lil' shit is the soon to be not-animal skin rug.

**Mission 5: "Old Wounds"**

_"The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering."_

_-Slayer's Testament VII_

* * *

"Think I've had enough babysittin' a teen, gonna take a leak."

Flynn's fuses weren't built to last, his anger being one of the sole reasons his old demonic prey was instilled with such terror at the sight of him and his crimson painted iron clad.

"Wait, the Hell am I supposed to do man?" Yuuma screamed out down the hall, clearly exasperated by the former marine's unpredictable nature.

Rolling his eyes, Taggart spun in place and yelled back roughly. "Take care of that bag like of yer own damn eyes! Lose it, lose yer eyes as well."

"Is a threat always necessary?!" Makoto started finally losing it, punching the nearest wall, hurting himself in the process.

"… Ouch…" he exclaimed, shaking his fist in a fruitless effort to ease his suffering for a bit.

"God... I'm pathetic."

With a frown and a crestfallen expression, along with the passing disgruntled looks of fellow passengers, he reluctantly returned to his seat, a thud following his collapse on soft, silky mattresses.

"Man is this high quality. The big guy sure is picky, hu-"

"Yes indeed! This is of first class quality, built for the most loyal of our patrons!"

Widening his eyes, the unwilling partner in crime stared in the direction of the source of the sound, noticing a slender figure in front of him, clad in fancy clothes and bearing an ear-to-ear grin, bordering on it being unsettling.

Yuuma started to sweat, clearly knowing the purpose of this overly-enthusiastic conductor's deafening presence.

"Now, would you mind showing me your ticket, young man?"

Gulping, the kid opened his mouth, in an attempt to improvise his way out of this nightmare he found himself in.

* * *

It was over, wasn't it?

The Slayer could only sigh at his grimace-inducing psyche.

He always thought that there was no peace to find. A life dedicated to bloodshed and death couldn't lead to a bright day, could it? Whether he liked it or not, both the past and time were going to catch up with him, as killing an entire pantheon is sure to have its consequences, or so he thought until now. All Flynn knew was rage and vengeance, breaking and maiming all that opposed him, but when there is no-one left to oppose him, what else is there for this old man? What else is there left for him?

"… The Hell am I doin' 'nymore..."

Hopeless. Empty. Lost. All of these words rung deeply in Flynn's jumbled mess of memories and emotions.

The shattered mirror in front of him, right above the sink, reflected a similarly shattered man who had lost everything. This was unacceptable in the eyes of the Slayer.

"Look a' me, bein' a whiny lil' bitch. I ain't the kid, I went to Hell and back for this shit? Got placed on Earth to do lots o' shit, and puttin' a razor on my wrist ain't one of 'em."

After the trauma of plunging deep into the bowels of Inferno itself and watching helplessly as his comrades and family got cleaved and eviscerated, he found himself using this coping mechanism. It aided him best, where self-medication and bottles of pills did not.

At least the military doctors did part of their job right.

"I'm better than this…"

Lack of purpose can drive one mad, but the Slayer was about to have none of that.

"Come on man! You're holding the line!"

"Ya mind bein' a bit patient asshole?!"

While a lot has changed over the years, Flynn's temperament had not.

* * *

_Gulp._

"Erm… I…"

Seeing Yuuma in distress, the Slayer quickened his pace. Lips parting, a yell consisting of a melting pot filled with anger and disappointment resurged from his rough vocal chords.

"Oi kid, fuckin' told ya to not talk to strangers dammit!"

"S-sorry man…" Yuuma looked downwards, crestfallen once again.

The conductor turned around slowly to face the unexpected perturbator, his unsettling grin remaining glued to his almost skeletal but chipper mug.

"And who might you be, mister?" The conductor politely asked.

"Yer fairy fucking godmother. Who do ya think I am?"

"Hmm… Quite an old and vulgar monsieur, who looks like he has been through a lot! How may I serve you?" As if forgetting entirely about the ticket, he changed the subject on a whim.

Grinning cheekily, Flynn retorted.

"How 'bout you serve me by takin' that ugly grin off yer face an' shovin' it up yer ass."

With this said, the former marine reached deep inside his biker jacket's pocket and revealed a flask filled with liquor, taking a swig of it.

"Now sir, that's a big no-no in this here compartment!" said the conductor, proceeding to swipe the Slayer's flask mid-swig right out of his hand, to Flynn's dismay.

"If you ever feel like having a taste of our top-quality, refined beverages, feel free to take a look around the compartment housing the bar. I bid you farewell gentlemen, enjoy your ride!"

With this, the conductor had departed, to the stowaways' delight.

"Good riddance man…"

"Gotta agree with ye for once, kid."

"Pfft, I'm always right!" Yuuma praised himself shamelessly, but unbeknownst to Flynn, his partner in crime was overjoyed due to his praise.

After pausing for a couple of minutes to take a breather, the pair returned to their regular banter.

"Y'know, would it kill ya to act a bit nicer? These guys are workin' real h-"

"You tryin' to say I'm impolite or somethin'?!" The Slayer intrerrupted rudely.

"Man… Impolite would be an improvement."

With a sigh from both parties, the cabin they resided in returned to its usual quietude, only to be broken now by Flynn, surprisingly.

"So, kid…"

From overjoyed to surprised, Yuuma's expression shifted dramatically, not expecting Taggart out of all people to initiate a conversation with him.

"… Why're you in this line o' work? You're young, got a lotta time 'head of ya. Why not work an honest job, huh?"

"Promise not to do anythin' with the info I give ya?" Yuuma's mood did a 180 unexpectedly, catching the Hellwalker slightly off-guard.

"You seein' any torture devices? It's fuckin' small talk kid."

"Right…"

With Flynn having cleared up things, Yuuma felt as comfortable as he could be speaking about his personal life in the company of a behemoth of a man who could possibly splatter him against a wall and claim it's modern art.

While still wary, his lips parted and thus, he began reminiscing his life's narrative. A tale quite tragic yet all the more bittersweet.

"It all started, y'know, when I was born…"

"Naturally."

Sighing, Yuuma ignored the Hellwalker's cheeky observation, carrying on with his life's chain of events.

"Nothin' too spectacular, just a regular family in a decent house. Not a perfect life by a landslide, had its ups 'n' downs, but we were content as long as we stuck together."

"So far so good. What was the catalyst? Too deep in debt? Affair with the mistress?"

With a chuckle following his remark, it was clear that Taggart had started to lose his patience, which wasn't at all surprising to Yuuma. This trait was one of the Slayer's characteristical qualities and the kid knew it all to well. Not paying any mind, he kept reciting his anecdote, unwavered by Flynn's rude intrerruptions.

"My sister, she's real dear to me, was born sickly, no cure to be found, as if the body her soul was placed in denied her."

Flynn halted his insolent notes entirely, knowing this was a sensitive subject for the kid that laid in front of him. A kid who was forced to grow too soon for his own good.

"Man, she's a real sweetie too, y'know? She didn't deserve this, why did it have to be her y'know?" Yuuma paused, likely reminiscing of a past long gone.

"But she was happy. The most optimistic of us. She was like the glue to our barely stuck-together family."

Yuuma chuckled softly at the memory of the one who was dearest to him. Clearly one of the moments that shone the brightest, back in his now stolen childhood.

"Assume things didn't last 'is way for long, 'ave they, kid?"

Nodding, he answered. "Your guess is right, unfortunately…"

Looking down, he pressed on with fearsome determination, disregarding all the stinging memories that were burned all to deep into his retinas.

"A local Yakuza group wanted our house's territory, but my dad, headstrong as ever, refused. Guess I inherited that from him…"

The ringing in his ears roared ever so ferociously, and blood rushed to his cranium. The burden Yuuma carried was too heavy, a burden not meant for an innocent soul such as his.

"Who would've thought that would've been the last night we would have had dinner together…"

With no previous sign, he proceeded to sob softly, leaving the Slayer to fester alone in his thoughts.

After bearing witness to such an unsettling answer, he decided to push no further. No matter what the kid in front of him had done, sentimental torment was undeserving of him.

"Look, as insensitive as this may sound, I didn't ask for yer entire life story bud, was just wonderin' how you got to be a Yakuza member."

"… R-Right…"

While the sobbing had relatively halted, the relentless sharp and wet sound of Yuuma's sniffing was still present. For the first time in an unsepeakably long while, Flynn felt pity and remorse.

He was going to soon regret what pain he was about to inflict on his very own soul.

"Eh, bud… Ya wanna…"

Choking on syllables, the Hellwalker strained himself to press on.

"... Hug it out?"

The question undeniably shocked the kid, but he couldn't complain in the slightest. Yuuma agreed to the offer with close to no delay, signalling the Doom Slayer himself to shakily wrap his arms around the tormented teen.

This, surely, had to be one of Flynn's most awkward moments in the entirety of his absurdly long life.

He desperately wanted to deny that such heresy was happening right before his eyes, but alas, he could not.


End file.
